Stars Over Thamasa
by Larathia
Summary: Celes and Terra have a small crossed-wire collapse of communication, one night by Leo's grave. Celes/Terra UST


The village echoed with the silence of death and grief. The Empire's betrayal, while not entirely _unexpected_, had nevertheless been devastating in ways even those most familiar with its cruelties found hard to swallow.

Such as General Leo, whose fresh grave was now hidden under mounds of cut flowers.

The stars shone brightly over the charred village, and Celes had little trouble using their light where street lamps were now dark. Her booted feet crunched quietly on char and gravel as she made her way to the outskirts. The rest of the team, such as it was, had long ago fallen asleep; she was tired of waiting, and there was only one place Terra would be.

And she was there, standing at the foot of Leo's tribute-laden grave. Arms crossed over her stomach, in the starlight her green hair seemed a more human brunette. It made little difference; Celes had seen her true form, and it lurked in echoes of every part of Terra's more human seeming when one knew where to look. She stared now not at the stars, but at the starlit headstone, and her stillness was a wolf's stillness in the tree-cast shadows.

"We will be leaving in a few hours, Terra," said Celes calmly. "The others are already asleep."

"I just wanted...I had to sort my feelings out," Terra hesitantly replied. "He was so...noble. So kind. But he didn't - he knew, and he didn't -"

"Neither did I," Celes pointed out. "We did not know all of what you went through, with the slave crown on your head. But we could have guessed, if either of us had spared thought for it." She bowed her head. "I know that we both have regrets for that."

"He seemed to see me as a person," Terra continued, as if Celes hadn't spoken. "But did he really? Does anyone?"

Terra's attention was on the headstone, and so she missed Celes' frown. "Your friends do," she answered, the cool neutrality audible now.

Audible enough, at any rate; Terra turned her attention from the headstone to regard the former general instead; her eyes shone red in the starlight. Animal eyes. "Do you really?" she asked softly.

"Do you look at me and see the torture of your father's people?" Celes countered neutrally. "Do you look at my magic and see one of your father's people being drained of his life in a glass tube? I am who I am. You are who you are."

Terra's gaze shifted; away from Celes, toward the battered village through the trees. "Who are we, then?"

"People," Celes answered simply, likewise turning to study the damaged houses. "Like them, in our own ways."

"Hunted," Terra clarified sadly. "Feared. Not people."

"Except to ourselves," Celes pointed out, putting a hand on Terra's shoulder. "The others have not yet realized that this village is our future. I was infused with magic as a child. They have accepted the powers of magicite. We are all mage warriors now. Our children will be like the children of this village. You are not as alone as you believe, Terra. Leo understood this. Your friends understand it. The only one who does not, is you."

Terra leaned into the contact, her expression pensive. "If I...if I'd never been born...all this would never have happened."

Celes bit back a sigh, and put her arms around Terra, holding her in a light embrace. There really wasn't much one could say when Terra reached these kinds of moods; if she wanted to blame herself for something, she seemed adept at finding a way to do so. Tempted as she was to just snap at Terra until she stopped it, she knew _that_ wasn't particularly helpful either. The last time she'd tried it, Terra had burst into tears and hadn't talked to anyone for a full day, which had resulted in Edgar, Locke, and Sabin all having Words with her about it. So she just held Terra instead, as that seemed to have _some_ positive effect. After a while, the sound of their breathing, the echo of their heartbeats, and the night-wind in the trees eased the tension in Terra's body. Only then did Celes venture, "And yet you are here. I am here. We are not blamed for the troubles that are happening. That falls on Kefka, and the Emperor. Not us. Do not heap this blame on yourself when those who suffer do not blame you."

Terra tilted her head back, against Celes' shoulder. "...You never have a kind word to say to anyone," she observed. "Do you never...worry that you might not be able to love?"

"You have asked me that before," Celes replied. "At least this time you did the courtesy of not asking in front of Edgar."

Terra smiled. "You're still not answering." With care, she pulled away from Celes' embrace. "I...you're the one most like me. We both grew up in the Empire. We both have powers. Can't you see why I worry?"

Celes blinked at that. "You believe I cannot love, and therefore you can not?" she asked, her tone almost cold now. "Because those closest to your situation are dead, or insane, or alone, you believe that this must be your fate as well?"

The General could radiate a cold rage that should have withered flowers at ten paces. Terra stepped back, wolf-eyes wide as Celes' more human glacial blue eyes glared. It took more courage than Terra expected to squeak, "...Maybe?"

"Do humans all look alike to you?" asked Celes flatly, her stare unwavering. "Espers, I have noticed, take a variety of forms. Do humans all look alike to your eyes, Terra? Is that why you assume we must all feel the same, react the same?"

"N-no!" Terra choked, stepping farther back. "Celes - I didn't mean - "

But Celes turned away, audible sourness creeping into the cold, flat words. "You look for love everywhere. You want it more than you want anything. And you have no idea what it is. How could you possibly hope to know it when you see it?"

The accusation clearly had hit its mark; Terra seemed nothing so much as confused. "Celes...if I have hurt your feelings, I'm sorry."

"I am a general of the Empire," said Celes flatly, moving away. "There is no possible manner in which you could hurt my feelings."

"You know that's not true!" The words were out before Terra could censor them. It was only seconds before she wished she had; Celes had a way of...of _standing_, of _looking_ at her, that gave the impression of rage and violence without ever making the suggestion blatant enough to be acted on, yet far too real to be ignored. A sensation that a great anger was held in check only by Celes' own will, which might at any time be revoked and the wrath unleashed. Terra had seen Maranda; that anger was entirely capable of great destructive power. And now it was staring at her. Aimed at her.

Aimed, but not yet unleashed; not so much as a twitch of her hand toward the hilt of the sword she always wore, the conduit she used to absorb magical attacks. Terra reached out her hand. "Celes...I'm sorry," she repeated. "You don't...you don't have to pretend. I've seen how you are around Locke. You feel."

"It does not matter," Celes answered flatly. "Locke knows that I am a general of the Empire.I have come to terms with his apparent psychological need to rescue any woman that crosses his path."

Terra winced. That hadn't been what she'd meant. She wasn't exactly sure what she _had_ meant, but that wasn't it. Everything seemed to be going wrong, everything she said or wanted to say, and she wasn't all that sure why but she _did_ want it to stop. She stopped, tried to think of something to say, something that might defuse the situation. _I'm sorry_, while true, was clearly not enough or not the right thing to say. Which was a pity, because it was what she kept wanting to repeat. _I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me_. Several not-quite-words got as far as her vocal cords and died there, and Celes looked to be losing what minimal patience she had left for this exercise. Finally Terra blurted, "I'm - glad you came out here tonight."

It seemed like a bald-faced lie on the face of it. Terra was pensive, closed-in, and anyone happening upon the two women likely would have assumed Celes to be about to throttle the half-esper and reacted accordingly. But Celes knew that Terra did not lie - not out of some ideal of honesty, but simply because she was usually quite terrible at it; the falsity and insincerity tended to make those around her twitch and soon enough the entire team had decided that blunt and awkward questions were far preferable. Celes, in her way much the same, knew it for truth and paused...slowly relaxing. Her response, however, was oblique. "Leo was my mentor."

She wasn't angry, and she wasn't leaving. For now, that was good enough for Terra. "...Um?" she offered awkwardly, holding out her hand. "Perhaps...we can keep him company?"

A little more of the ice melted away; Celes looked tired, and a little pale. She approached Terra again, and held out her hand to lace fingers with her. "It is only an hour or two until first light," she said quietly. "We may as well. It honors him...and neither of us is likely to get much rest now anyway."

It wasn't as good as when Celes' arms had been around her, but it felt a lot better than staying out here alone had. Terra squeezed Celes' hand lightly in silent thanks, standing with her before the flower-laden headstone. It was all so...so _tangled up_. Leo, Locke...the whole village of Thamasa itself for that matter, these descendants of those who had destroyed members of her father's race to increase their own powers, who had been so welcoming once they knew they didn't have to hide. They weren't quite 'normal' humans, but they knew love, had families...was it really not so important a thing to worry about? Leo had seemed so wise, so ...in possession of all the possible answers. And now he was gone.

So lost was she in all her thoughts that Terra didn't notice the lightening of the air, the increasingly noisy chatter of birdsong. She _was_, however, exceedingly grateful that it was Cyan, and not Setzer or Edgar or Locke, who approached the mound. Cyan, as laconic as Celes often was, did not startle with shouted hails or laughter. He simply let his own booted feet on the gravel path announce his approach, waited silently for acknowledgment, bowed when Celes (and then, alerted by her movement, Terra) turned to greet him.

"The ...airship is prepared," said Cyan, his tone as calm and level as Celes', though Terra was sure the word _abomination_ was being thought as 'airship' was said. "Setzer wishes us to depart before fuel is wasted."

Celes' hand slipped free of Terra's then, bowing a formal acknowledgment. Terra briefly wondered why the two of them held to such formalities; she was pretty sure they were friends. "We are coming," Celes answered.

Cyan needed nothing more, turning and walking away without a backward glance. Terra - not wanting to shatter the peace that had descended when the two of them had held hands - decided that maybe another time was a better time to ask about bows and formal language. So she gave Celes a little smile, instead, and moved to follow Cyan. He'd been right; the sun was risen, and in the distance she could hear the sounds of Thamasa waking up to a day of rebuilding.

It was, nevertheless, indefinably reassuring to hear the steady tread of Celes' booted feet on the path behind her.


End file.
